


Age of Evolution

by SummerRed



Series: Wiser Today [1]
Category: North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell | UK TV, Wives and Daughters - Elizabeth Gaskell
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:21:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerRed/pseuds/SummerRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Margaret work to restore the mill and to deal with complications wrought by openly kissing on public train platforms.  Meanwhile, Mrs. Thornton and Aunt Shaw join forces.  Horrors!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Age of Evolution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tam_Cranver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tam_Cranver/gifts).



"Foreman?" Higgins repeated incredulously.

John suppressed a wince; he'd had a similar reaction when Margaret had proposed the offer. However, she'd followed up the suggestion with a well-reasoned argument and eventually he had come to see the merits of the plan. "You're intelligent, experienced, and know how a mill is run," John noted. "And we both know you can lead men."

Higgins's eyes narrowed at the reference to the aborted strike, but a moment later he relaxed. "This is Margaret's doing, isn't it?"

John scowled. "Williams is settled at Slickson's; he won't be coming back. With Cowen and Lester dying last winter and Evering moving to London with his new wife, there isn't an experienced foreman to be had in Milton. Given a choice between an overeducated fop just out of University or a man who's spent his entire life in the mills, I'll choose the best man for the job and convention can go hang." John closed his mouth abruptly, uncomfortably aware of how many of those words had come straight from Margaret's mouth.

Higgins stared at him for a minute. John stared back, refusing to show weakness.

"We do work well together," Higgins finally conceded, and John discreetly let himself breathe again. "But I won't stand for unfair conditions," Higgins added, his eyes suddenly hard as granite. "If I'm in charge of the workers, I'm not leaving my brain at home."

"I'd expect nothing less," John said.

Higgins grinned. "I'm guessing Margaret has some ideas about that as well."

She'd had. Quite a few, in fact. Not that he'd admit as such out loud. "Margaret asked me to remind you that you and the children are invited to the wedding."

"We wouldn't miss it," Higgins said. "And now that I'm going to be foreman, I'll even be wearing a suit."

John allowed himself a small smile and held out his hand to seal the agreement.

~*~

"What did he say?" Margaret asked the moment she arrived for dinner, a gaggle of Shaws and Lennoxes in her wake. John eyed Margaret's hovering aunt and felt a pang of nostalgia for that day when Margaret had come home with him on the train. They'd had one lovely evening of dinner and conversation under his mother's disapproving but resigned eye and an equally delightful breakfast before Margaret's scandalized relatives had descended on the Thorton residence. Hannah Thornton and Emmaline Shaw may not have had much in common, but they were both very firmly agreed that for the sake of Margaret's already tarnished reputation there were to be no more unchaperoned moments between the two until they were wed. John acknowledged that their kiss on a public train platform had damaged Margaret's reputation far more than his own and thus put up with the invasion. That didn't mean he was happy with their interference.

"John?" Margaret said tentatively. "Did he say no?"

"No. He's starting on Monday."

"That soon?" Margaret asked, sounding surprised. "I didn't think we were starting the mill again until after the wedding." Over her shoulder, Mrs. Shaw's face contorted into an expression of despair.

John, on the other hand, was keenly aware of how much Margaret's relatives despised the idea of her having anything to do with manufacturing and trade, and he relished answering: "A business like this cannot be started overnight. Workers will have to be hired, the machinery inspected and repaired—"

"And the schoolhouse must be prepared," Margaret said firmly.

Ah, yes, the schoolhouse. While John agreed that a basic education was a benefit to both child workers and their employers, he felt there were better and more appropriate places for a schoolhouse than the mill itself. Still, Margaret owned the mill. If she wanted to turn one of the unused outbuildings into a schoolhouse, John could hardly stop her.

Perhaps, in the end, she might even have the right of it. John would never forget that he had very nearly been the end of Marlborough Mill. Margaret's suggestions had seemed strange, even ridiculous, when she had first presented them, but no one knew better than John that hard work wasn't enough to make a business successful. You also needed innovation.

Thus it was with a combination of satisfaction and resignation that he answered, "The schoolhouse will be ready. In fact, I already have a building selected."

Mrs. Shaw buried her face in her hands. Margaret beamed.

~*~

The weeks leading up to the wedding were a chaotic blur. Higgins took over most of the hiring and spent much of the time scowling and jerking irritably at the collar of his shirt. John took that to mean that the man was either finding the inevitable division between foreman and worker irksome or his collar was itchy. Either way, John left him to his work.

John himself was torn between the time-consuming and expensive demands of the mill and the equally arduous and, if possible, more expensive demands of his wedding. For the former, there was raw cotton to be sourced and purchased, debts from the former incarnation of the mill to be paid and outstanding bills to be collected on, business relationships to be reforged with clothing manufacturers, and an endless array of political maneuvering with other mill owners. On the personal side were decisions regarding guests and food, visits to the local parson with Margaret, and delicate negotiations with Margaret's family.

John had never been very good with delicate negotiations and, honestly, he didn't particularly care about the food or guests. If he could, he would have happily left all of the wedding details to Margaret and his mother. Unfortunately the two were barely speaking and as John loved both of them and refused to pick sides, he was usually required as a mediator.

There was one decision, however, that he and Margaret had to decide on their own: where to go for their wedding journey. Everyone else had an opinion, of course: the Shaws and Lennoxes recommended an array of continental destinations and Fanny, who had forgiven John the moment she heard there was a wedding to be planned, was very enthusiastic about the Mediterranean. Mrs. Thornton naturally insisted that there was no better destination to be found than Milton itself. None of these suggestions held any appeal for John; a wedding journey without a journey would be unsatisfactory, but he couldn't afford to be away from the mill for the length of time that an international destination would require. Bath and London were also put forth; John considered those more seriously, but had to admit misgivings. London and Bath were fashionable cities and John had never been a fashionable person.

"And you think I am!" Margaret said teasingly.

"More so than I am," John said. With her fine figure and society manners, John was sure Margaret would have been the belle of her season.

"I was far too much of a country girl to be a significant figure in London society, John. The frippery and frills and intrigues and gossip – it all seemed so meaningless to me." She leaned in to whisper, "Not that I would say so in front of Aunt Shaw, of course. She still thinks inviting me was a great treat."

Mrs. Thornton, who was currently on chaperoning duty, looked sternly upon the whispering and Margaret quickly pulled back to a more respectable distance. For one of the few times in his life, John wished his mother was farther away.

"What about Helstone?" Margaret offered.

John felt his heart stutter and he struggled to control his expression. Unsuccessfully it seemed, for Margaret immediately leaned forward again, placing a hand over his own. "I'm not pining for Helstone," she said quickly. "Milton is my home now, and I'm happy here."

"Then why go back?" John asked. "Especially for our wedding journey?"

"Because, for a very long portion of my life, Helstone was my entire world. It's a part of who I am, more so than any other place except for Milton." She smiled and gently squeezed his fingers. "I'd like to share it with you."

After such a plea, how could he refuse her? "Then Helstone it shall be," John said, and he did his very best not to notice his mother's sour expression over Margaret's shoulder.

~*~

The wedding was a tremendous success. John's side of the aisle was overflowing with all of the first families of Milton. As most of those families were the same men and women who had shunned him just a few months before, when the mill shut down, John dismissed most of them from his mind. He was much more pleased with Margaret's side of the aisle, with Nicholas Higgins, Mary, the Boucher children, and a smattering of other workers that Margaret had befriended since she'd first come to Milton. Though the workers' best clothing was threadbare and their faces not quite clean, John found that he felt considerably warmer to them at that moment than he did to the Latimers and Slicksons and Hampers. As long as they could avoid another strike, he thought that preference might even hold in the future.

Margaret was positively radiant in her white gown. Mrs. Thornton had been sure to tell everyone who asked that the lace on the gown as well as Margaret's veil had been made in Milton, and Mrs. Shaw had been very loud in her praise of the craftsmanship. Even the dire prospect of Mrs. Shaw and his mother joining forces wasn't enough to dampen John's joy on this day and from the moment Margaret stepped into the church until they walked out hand-in-hand, his eyes never left her face. When all was said and done, the vows he'd spoken were a blur, but Margaret's sparkling eyes and shy smile were forever etched into his memory. What did church vows matter? He'd been hers since the day he first proposed.

The wedding night was spent in the Thornton house. After the wedding and the subsequent revels both John and Margaret were exhausted. John was about to propose postponing the consummation until they were in Helstone when Margaret reached for him, first with determination and later with surprised pleasure.

They both slept very late the next morning.

~*~

"At last," Margaret sighed as John shut the door to their carriage. "We're alone."

John smiled at her, remembering their last train ride together. The first class seat had been a shameful expense when he'd gone down to Helstone, but he'd needed the privacy. He'd needed the privacy on the way back as well, but for a different, much more pleasant reason. "I do love my mother, but I admit that she can be overbearing."

"She is formidable. But so are Aunt Shaw and Edith, in their own way."

Edith certainly wielded her infant without shame; much of the time John felt that Margaret was treated as little more than a glorified nanny. He held his tongue for the sake of marital happiness, however, and rewarded himself with a kiss.

The next few miles passed away quite enjoyably, but they were forced to separate as they pulled into a station. John sighed and stared out into the crowds just feet from their carriage door as Margaret repinned her hat. There was a ragged man crouched down against the far wall; from what John could see in the narrow spaces between milling strangers, the man had been seized by a coughing fit that nearly drove him to the ground.

"What do the workers do when they're ill?" Margaret asked. She was staring at the coughing man and looked very much like she wanted to go and give him money. If he had been begging John had no doubt she would have followed her instincts, but there was no money pan in sight and he wasn't holding out his hand to the crowd. Still, her fingers twitched over her purse and John covered her hand with his own.

"They come to work if they can, of course."

"And if they can't, they go hungry, unless there is someone else who can work," Margaret said. She looked pensive.

"Thinking of Bessie?" John asked gently.

"And the Boucher children," Margaret said with a sigh. "But I was thinking more of people with a cold or the influenza. When I was visiting sickhomes in Helston, I often noted that when one child grew ill, the others often followed. Surely you have seen that in your factories."

"Sickness comes in the winters," John said, "but that is true everywhere. We can hardly close the factories because some of the workers are ill."

"And to send them home hungry doesn't help either," Margaret mused as the whistle blew. John felt the train strain forward, slowly gaining momentum as they pulled away from the platform. Margaret took his hand in both of her as she continued: "If only there could be some way that the ill could remain at home, so they did not spread their disease, whilst still being paid so they did not go hungry."

"If workers could be paid for staying at home, it would take less than a day for the entire mill to be stricken with a convenient illness. Then who would weave the cotton?"

Margaret frowned. "But—"

"No," John said firmly. "I've hired Higgins on as foreman, I've cut the work hours for the children, and I've even agreed to build that ridiculous school, but there has to be a limit. The mill is a business, not a charity. I cannot and will not pay my employees to stay at home."

"Not even if it means the rest of your workers remain strong and healthy? Surely it is better for your business to have strong, healthy workers rather than weak, ill ones."

John gritted his teeth at the way Margaret spat out 'business', as if the word itself was vile. "You doubt my understanding of my workers?"

Margaret sighed, and leaned back into the seat. "No, I think you're probably right," she admitted. "Most people wouldn't work if they could get paid to stay home."

"We would be more productive in the winter if everyone was healthy," John conceded. He shifted his free hand to cover Margaret's. Despite their argument, she'd never let him go.

Margaret smiled, and leaned against John's side. John immediately embraced her, enjoying the way she burrowed even closer. "I had always thought we'd stop fighting once we married," she said. "My parents never fought."

"Mine did," John said. "Frequently. But that didn't stop them from loving each other." He briefly tightened his hold. "It's been nearly thirty years now, and mother is still in mourning."

"Oh, John," Margaret murmured, hugging him back. "Now how can I dislike her?"

Privately John didn't think it would be at all difficult to manage once the two women were living together, but he thought better of saying so aloud. Instead he bent his neck and he and his wife availed themselves of their privacy once more.

~*~

For their first few days in Helstone they remained close to the inn, venturing no further than the parsonage, where Margaret showed him all of her favorite walks and John showed Margaret where the hedgerow roses had hidden. One morning, however, Margaret received a letter and positively beamed upon perusing its contents.

"Good news?" John asked.

"It's from Molly."

John frowned. "Molly?"

"She's the daughter of the local doctor. Mother has never been in the best of health and Dr. Gibson used to bring Molly when he came to our house. She was my best friend when we were children."

"You've never mentioned her before."

Margaret's smile dimmed. "We grew apart as we grew older, especially after Frederick fled to Spain. When Dr. Gibson remarried to a woman with a daughter of her own, Molly spent more time at home. Then Father left the church and the Gibsons cut off all contact."

"Hardly seems like a connection worth keeping," John said tightly. He remembered all too clearly his own father's "friends" who had been so conspicuously absent after their downfall.

"I wouldn't pursue a renewed relationship with Dr. Gibson or his wife," Margaret admitted. "But Molly married shortly after I left, and she sent a very nice letter to mark the occasion. We've written since, though it's been a slow correspondence since she and her husband have until quite recently been in Africa."

"Africa!"

"Mr. Roger Hamley is a scientist. Very well known in his field, I believe."

"The name sounds familiar," John said thoughtfully. "Maybe I heard it mentioned during the exhibition in London." Margaret made a face and John laughed. "Don't look that way. That's where I realized that I still loved you."

Margaret did not look convinced. "At any rate, I wrote to Molly when we arrived and she's sent an invitation for a picnic."

"A picnic," John repeated dubiously.

Margaret smiled, all traces of ill humor vanished as if they'd never been. "I imagine there aren't many picnics in Milton. The cemetery may serve as a park for walks, but who would want to dine there?"

~*~

As an opportunity for Margaret and Molly to catch up on their lives, the picnic was an unqualified success. Margaret barely spared time for introductions before pulling Molly off for a women's conversation.

John, abandoned to an equally lost-looking Roger Hamley, cleared his throat. "So. Africa?"

Hamley smiled, transforming his entire face. "It is a fascinating country with a tremendous variation in geography and an astonishing range of flora and fauna. The Republic of Madagascar alone has tens of thousands—" He abruptly cut himself off. "I'm sorry. I've been told I can go on and on if not stopped."

John glanced over at Margaret and Molly, both of whom were speaking too rapidly to have made any progress in their eating. "It appears we have plenty of time."

They spent the majority of the afternoon discussing scientific endeavors and John had to admit that Hamley had made some fascinating discoveries. There was no industrial use for the animals and insects he'd found, however, and as the afternoon waned, so did John's interest. Scientific exploration was all well and good for men with land and money to spare, but John was not one of those men. Thus when Hamley paused in his recitation of the wonders he and Molly had seen, John redirected the conversation in a more controversial and thus hopefully more interesting direction. "What do you think of the idea of progressive development? Do you believe man could really have their origins in apes?"

"Absolutely," Hamley answered without hesitation, which surprised John. Most of the men he'd discussed this with previously had soundly derided the idea; the remainder had cautiously said it was possible, but that the theory was far from proven. "A colleague of mine at the Kew Gardens has been showing me a few excerpts by Charles Darwin. His book is to be published soon; once that happens, even the theologists won't be able to deny the truth behind progressive development."

"I've never heard of Darwin," John said.

"Trust me, if you were a scientist, you would have. He was a true rising star a few years back, before his health got the best of him. These days he spends most of his time in the country, writing and taking the water cure." John's opinion of that must have been clear on his face, because Hamley immediately added, "He has some very convincing arguments based on his research into barnacles."

"Perhaps I should wait until the book has been published," John suggested.

They settled into an awkward silence, both staring at their spouses. John took some hope from the fact that Margaret had begun to pack up the picnic basket; he was more than ready to return to their room.

"You know," Hamley said thoughtfully, "it's possible that the theory of progressive development could also be applied to industry."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, in its most basic form, Darwin's theory is that given limited resources and a species with varying characteristics, the characteristics that are more suited to the environment will increase an individual's chance of survival and thus of passing its characteristics down to its children. So the question becomes: what characteristics of a business will increase its chance of surviving?"

John scowled, thinking of his failed mill. "I'm afraid I don't have the answer to that question."

"Well," Hamley said with a shrug. "Something to think about."

Fortunately, that was when the women decided they had visited long enough and John was able to leave.

~*~

"Roger Hamley is an interesting man," John said as he and Margaret made their way back to Helstone in the Hamley carriage. "For a gentleman scientist."

"I confess I don't know much about him," Margaret said. "There are far more country parsons than there are well-respected country doctors, you know, and their range of influence correspondingly much smaller. Hamley Hall was too far from Helstone for me to have much to do with the family. I do know his older brother died, but I believe there was a child found after his death, an heir."

"Pity Fanny isn't here," John murmured. "She always loves a good scandal." Margaret bit her lip, but John was sure he could see her trying to smile. His good humor restored, he added, "You and Molly seemed to get on well."

"We did. She was telling me all of the adventures she and her husband have had: voyages to Africa and India and China. Their next expedition will be to America, to collect samples of plants and insects that are found both in England and in America, so they can be compared."

"You sound as if you wish to go on a voyage yourself. Are you regretting the decision to come to Helstone?"

To his relief, she merely laughed. "No, not at all. I like listening to the stories, but I confess that such a voyage would be too daunting for me. I've never been outside of England!"

John shook his head at his wife, his eyes tracing over the beloved lines of her face. "You are the bravest woman I know," he said sincerely. "If you had to travel the seas, you would rise to the challenge."

Margaret smiled and pressed a little closer to John's side. He immediately took the liberty of placing an arm around her shoulders and silently began to make plans for a few years down the road, when the mill was once again established. Not to the Americas, of course; he didn't think he or Margaret would enjoy that very much. A trip to Spain, on the other hand, was certainly a possibility.

~*~

That night, as they lay in bed, the perspiration cooling from their bodies, Margaret asked, "What about you and Mr. Hamley? What did you discuss?"

"Insects," John said wryly. "And plants. And, occasionally, rocks."

"Oh dear," Margaret said, though she sounded more amused than dismayed. "Molly did say that he was very attached to his work."

"Some of it was interesting," John admitted. "He had some odd ideas about progressive development." He shifted over onto his side so that he was facing Margaret. "Margaret, what do you think is most important to the survival of a business?"

"You're the businessman, John. I'm only providing the funding."

"And opinions."

"You knew I was opinionated when you married me," Margaret said.

"And I wouldn't change that for the world," John said. It was true, mostly. "You have a first rate mind, Margaret. Put it to use. What is most important to the survival of a business?"

Margaret turned on her side as well, curling one lovely hand under her cheek as she considered the question. "Customers, I suppose. If no one will buy your product, there's no profit in making it."

John nodded; supply was important, but demand even more so. "And what's the best way to attract customers?" This, he felt, was where his own abilities failed. Finding reliable sources of cotton, running a business smoothly, producing product – in all of these areas, he was the best master in Milton. Yet his mill had failed while others had succeeded, and not all of them could be kept solvent through risky speculations with mill funds.

"Quality," Margaret said promptly. "When I think about how much I spend on dresses now compared to what I spent when I was living with my parents, I'm rather appalled; the dressmakers must be making a fortune. If you can get those same dressmakers to start using cotton instead of linen, you'll make far more money for the same amount of work."

"Most of the population wears cotton," John noted. "I think the gentry wears linen more because it isn't cotton, than because of any difference in quality."

Margaret frowned. "You're probably right. Still, your mother says that cotton doesn't break like linen can and that it takes color better. There has to be a way to use that to convince dressmakers that cotton is better for their purposes than linen." She looked pensive for a moment. "When we get back, I'll discuss it with Aunt Shaw."

Instead of answering he leaned in to take Margaret's lips with his own. In the morning he'd mention how much he'd appreciate discussion of his mother and Margaret's aunt being permanently banned from their marriage bed. In the interim, he was confident he could come up with a mutually enjoyable distraction.

~*~

Margaret sighed as the train pulled away from the Helstone station and John glanced over. "Sad to leave?"

"A little," Margaret said. "I'm going to miss our cozy inn."

John was very aware that they were both thinking of his mother at that moment and decided avoidance was the better part of valor. "I've been thinking."

"About?"

"About workers being paid to stay at home when they're sick."

Margaret turned to face him, all thoughts of John's mother clearly gone from her mind. "Really?"

"There would have to be a limit: no more than a few days a year, and they'd only get half-pay."

"That's very fair," Margaret said quickly.

"And they'd have to promise not to strike," John added.

"Why would they want to strike?" Margaret asked. "Marlborough Mill would be the best employer in the city."

John shook his head. If his workers did strike again, however, he probably wouldn't have to go as far as Ireland to find replacements. Paying the sick to stay home might have more benefits than he'd reckoned. Though there was still one unpleasant aspect to consider. "One last requirement."

"Yes?" Margaret asked warily.

"You have to be the one to break the news to Higgins."

Margaret's wariness vanished in a blinding smile. She held out her hand then, too impatient to wait, took one of his from his lap and shook it firmly. "You have a deal."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta, Isis, who did much wrangling of awkward sentences and valiantly tackled my overabundant dialogue tags.


End file.
